Rebirth
by Brutal-Bugaboo
Summary: FULL SUMMARY INSIDE. AU. Arthur doesn't remember when life became so dull. He works for a suicide-hotline and one day receives a call from a certain Eames that truly changes hise empty life forever. The call soon goes from possible suicide to a lovely chatter in which both men realize how in sync they are with one another. Eames wants to meet the faceless Arthur.


Hi there, how are you?

I always find it difficult to write one-shots because I just like to go on and on and on with stories.  
I'm pretty pleased with this one.

Enjoy reading and please review!

(Note: I mean no disrespect to anyone in some way connected to suicide. I am not pressing an opinion of this throughout the story. This is all fictional. I also don't have a single clue as to how Suicide-Hotlines work, so again, forgive me for possible mistakes. If anything suicide-related offends you, I suggest you do not read further. I also want to press that there is no gore in this chapter, nothing detailed at all)

* * *

**Rebirth  
**_An Arthur/Eames one-shot._

**Summary: **Arthur has lost track on life. Living it as dull as it can get and can't even remember when it got this far. He lives for the sake of living, the only sense of satisfaction coming from his job at the local Suicide-Hotline.

One night he receives a call from a man with a voice all dirt-and-gravel. What starts out as a 'suicide call' soon turns out to be a four hour chatter of nonsense which makes Arthur wonder in surprise when was the last time he had actually had a decent conversation let alone, a good laugh.

Never have either men felt such a connection with someone, and if that's the case with just calling over the phone, Eames is rather determined to meet face-less Arthur in real life.

**Rebirth.**

**Arthur POV**

When had my life just stopped like this? When had been the day that every sense of evolution, transformation and satisfaction had been just cut off like that?

It had been at least five years now. Five years of the same damn shit day in and day out.

I'd get up. I'd shower, brush my teeth and get dressed. I'd vaguely notice the permanent shadows beneath my eyes which refuse to lighten even with eight hours a sleep at night, as I'd look at my reflection.

After that hour ritual I'd leave my cramped apartment and head out to work. I'd take public transportation because owning a car is out of the question in the busy city I was living in.

I'd arrive at work and sit behind my desk, one of the many dozens of identical ones in the large building. I'd stare at the screen of the computer which isn't particularly needed for the job I was practicing.

I'd answer phone-calls. Endless waves of troubled and desperate whining over the crackling line of telecommunication. And in those moments I would be able to forget myself, to forget my own miniature depressive setting in life, and I'd support those who need it more than me.

Depending on the shift I'd get home at evenings or mornings. I would get greeted by an empty apartment and I'd prepare myself a scrappy meal.

Afterwards I'd just crawl into bed, too exhausted to as much as think of practicing a hobby and I would doze off into a sleep filled with the never-ending nightmares I've been having for years.

That's it.

That was my life and had been for half a decade now. I honestly could not remember what had gone wrong in my past for my life having 'stopped' like this.

I knew that technically I could change things but that was the initial problem though as I did not know which things to change. Not to mention, I felt no power, no energy, let alone any motivation to take action and flip my life over.

It wasn't like the movies or books. It wasn't like the heroic changes in life earning you fame and money, and love. Not one bit.

Real life was a hell lot more grey. Real life hung heavily on your shoulders, aiming for you to grow stronger and carry along the baggage of living, but not all of us were as strong. Not all of us were able to adjust to the weight pressing down.

Some just… collapsed.

I didn't think I had collapsed just yet underneath the persisting weight I had been feeling for ages, but nonetheless everything felt heavy and it exhausted me to my every muscle and bone.

I just wanted to sleep.

But ironically enough sleep was something I had difficulty with. Falling asleep was a burden, a battle and when I did indeed fall asleep my mind would be haunted with nightmares, making sure to wake me up every half an hour.

The phone on my small desk started to ring almost angrily as I had been nodding off and with a sigh I stretched my body a bit, shifting in the uncomfortable chair.

The dull sound of muttering and phones ringing in the large room filled with small office-cabins had been one of the reasons of my exhaustion having caught up on me, as it did every day. My bed never did.

I picked up the receiver as the phone rung and placed it against my ear, leaning back in my seat.

"Good evening, you're speaking with Arthur. How are you?" My voice was anything but heavy gloom resting on my shoulders. It was light, friendly, composed yet open.

There was a hesitant pause on the other side of the phone but the crackling made me certain that the connection had not been broken. It was also quite common for conversations like these to start out with a pause and it was important to grant them their time.

"I'm-uh. I'm okay, thanks." The very obvious male voice carried a British accent and the sound to it was a low rasp. Sand and gravel kind-of voice, quite attractive actually.

As always I tried to quickly sketch a mental image of the person. A male, mid-thirties, not yet in tears, sounding a bit breathless.

"How did your day go?" I asked the nameless man -anonymousness was something many craved- remembering to always ask 'open' question instead of those which could easily be replied with a confirmative yes or denying no.

Keep them talking and listen patiently.

Again he seemed a bit taken aback by my question which made me pretty sure this was his first time calling to a service like this. This also notified me I had to take it easy on him, be a bit more gentle maybe.

"Not so good." He began and after another pause I hummed thoughtfully. It was enough encouragement for him, because he continued straight after.

"You see, I went to a funeral today…" Another pause and with that he now let me know he actually wanted a conversation rather than just a receiver to spill his guts on.

"My condolences."

"What? Oh… no, that's okay, thanks." He stuttered, seeming a bit lost in thought.

"It was just… well, it's always sad but he was a nephew. Not someone I have seen a lot from in my life." I shifted a bit around and lifted my leg, resting my ankle on my knee.

"How was your family-tie with him?" I asked, a bit confused as to why a funeral of a nephew seemed to be not such a bad thing to him. The conversation so far did not make that much sense.

"Well, I always say, you can't pick the family you're born within. So honestly, even when blood-related… if you don't click, you don't click, you know what I mean?" I nodded absently and hummed.

"It's not that my day was bad because of my nephew's dead, but more so because of the funeral itself." The man sounded calm, his voice low but soothing and I wondered how close to suicide he had actually been when making this call. Perhaps he just needed to get things off his chest.

But I had learned a while ago, not to judge by the intonation alone. There were countless wrappings around possible suicides. Anger, fear, sadness, numbness even humor and downright denial.

They could snap. Because of a single word… You had to walk on eggshells but absolutely not sound like you were.

"Hypocrisy, Arthur. Any experience with that?" Anger. I could sense it, thick but subtle. He spoke my name in a purr, his British accent rolling the syllables like a fine wine over his tongue.

"Some, yes. How did you find hypocrisy at the funeral?" My legs uncrossed and I leaned forward towards my desk, elbows placed firmly on the wooden surface.

He had sparked some interest and I quickly scribbled down a few notes to make sure to work precise around this man's 'case'. This conversation could last for hours, anyway.

"Family, mostly. The fact that his body was not yet in the ground and there were already fights over his inheritance. False believes of caring and humanity." His voice was thick as if in tears but it sounded more like he was pressing back emotions of agitation.

I could absolutely relate to what he was talking about. I recalled very clearly, the memories of family dinners. The metaphorical hits-below-the-belt would go around the table non-stop, smudging anything family-related with a disgusting taste of dishonesty and hypocrisy, as you will.

Yet everyone would fake their way through it with plastered smiles and clammy handshakes.

"Either way, I snapped…" A sigh.

"I couldn't hold it in anymore and I snapped… at everyone." He huffed quite audibly and I could imagine the faceless man stroke a hand over his scalp in desperation.

"We all lose our cool sometime. It's understandable when emotions get locked inside for too long." I spoke carefully, listening carefully for any sign of annoyance. But everything was silent and I assumed he was paying close attention to my words.

"How did it make you feel, when you snapped?" While waiting for him to answer -as he seemed to be quite the thinker before speaking- I poured myself a cup of coffee and glanced at the computer screen.

It was one AM, sharp.

"I'm not sure, Arthur." He mumbled and I ignored the shiver that rolled down my spine when he said my name once again.

"Was there a combination of emotions, perhaps?" I asked the first yes-no question but I knew he'd been on the line with me for too long to shut down on me. So, I leaned back in my seat, sipping from the coffee and waited patiently for him to reply.

He hummed. The sound deep and a bit crackling over the line.

"Very much so, yes." A soft hiss-like sound could be heard and it took a while before I realized it was that typical sound of inhaling smoke from a cigarette. It immediately made me crave one myself.

"At first there was the rage, of course. Then as I snapped, it felt wonderful. It felt like… I'm not sure. Like you're finally standing up for yourself, do you know what I mean?" I smiled slightly at his stop-phrase.

"Then the second after, I felt relief. Literally like a weight being lifted off my shoulders. My chest could expand, my back straightened… I never knew that stress could wear you down so physically." I hummed in agreement. Stress did indeed take a toll on your body.

I was a living example of that with the aching muscles, the continuous tiredness and the stiff neck. Not to mention that weight on my shoulders, as the man just had said.

"But then the second after… shame and regret."

"In that order?"

"Excuse me?" He sounded a bit confused by my question and I took another sip from my coffee, not actually tasting it.

"First shame, then regret?"

"I'm not sure, why?" I could hear him shift around a little.

"You felt ashamed of snapping, so afterwards you regretted having snapped, while perhaps you regret it only because the sense of shame has washed over you, making you believe you did the wrong thing." A very long silence pressed upon my ear afterwards and I used the occasion to stretch my legs out in front of me, sinking a bit more into the not-so-comfortable chair.

"That… actually makes a lot of sense, Arthur. Thank you." The way he kept using my name made me feel a bit odd. Perhaps he just needed some familiarity as to being able to talk, still it didn't happen a lot.

Usually it'd be the other way around, if the caller would reveal a name that is.

"No need to thank me at all…" I spoke, cursing when I left the sentence hanging as if I had wanted a name to end it.

"Eames." I blinked.

"It's Eames." He repeated as for a second I sat a bit startled. Why I felt this surprised, I had no idea. Probably his voice, his accent and now his name.

"Eames." I repeated awkwardly and so-said man chuckled on the other side of the line.

"Arthur, do you mind if we continue to talk for a while?" I frowned by the question. He didn't sound desperate though, a bit more friendly and hopeful.

"That's no problem at all, Eames, I'm here."

* * *

At three in the morning we were still on the phone, Eames and I.

The conversation had absolutely no negativity in it anymore and somewhere between my sixth and seventh cup of coffee I had allowed to slip out of my role as Suicide-Hotline employee and into Arthur.

It had been ages since the last time I had had a conversation with someone as Eames. The thought alone should be enough to make me realize that I was not living my life the right way, or the healthy way.

"So Arthur…" He purred my name after his voice had gotten roughed up by at least two full minutes of laughing alongside myself. Eames was quite the joker.

"Yes?" I breathlessly asked, my fingers twitching for a cigarette as I could nearly hear the paper of his' burning and crisping as he took a drag.

"What're you wearing?" I snorted and thanked heavens I had not decided to drink coffee while waiting for his words. My voice broke into laughter by the saucy remark and I was glad the large hall was as good as empty spare some co-workers in the farthest back.

It wasn't that common to be laughing at a suicide-line, mind you.

"You first." I joked, not sure what to answer to that. I could feel my cheeks burning up in a blush and it only deepened when Eames murmured a reply. He obviously had taken the demand seriously.

"Well… A smile, for starters. Which, thank you for that, Arthur." I fidgeted nervously.

"Then there's an intense nakedness around my chest-area and down… lower…" My eyebrow cocked up curiously. The man's voice was downright oozing sexuality, but for all I knew, he could be one hell of an ugly bastard.

Yet, that didn't take away what a nice person he seemed to be, as far as you could get to know someone over the phone in three hours.

"… Some sweatpants. No underwear… of course." His voice was all sand and gravel, as if he had just woken up.

"Of course?" I asked in lack of a better come-back.

"Well yeah… this IS the triple x hotline, right?" He snorted as did I.

"I was wondering why it took so long for you to get things down and dirty." He spoke as if he only had just found out the truth. My smile turned into a wide grin.

"No, no, that'd be an other number, Eames." He made a choking sound which I wasn't too sure of being a huff or a chuckle.

"Ah well, mind sharing that number with me then, Arthur Love?" Both my eyebrows rose at this. He was obviously aiming to get my phone-number and this was highly off-standards for my job. Forbidden even.

I hesitated.

"Ah, never mind that, that was out of line. I apologize." He quickly spoke, his voice a bit muffled and before I knew it I started to ramble.

A complete impulse. A desperate clinging to the only distraction and sense of living I had had in years.

"No! No… That's-, it's fine. I'll give you… that number." I took a shaky breath, wondering why my heart was pounding so loudly in my chest and actually worrying he'd catch the sound over line.

"Are you sure? You don't have to- I mean… You're not doing it out of pity or a sense of misplaced heroic standards, right?" He snorted, as did I. I liked how the man saw humor in many things and I liked how he played with his words.

"Not at all."

It all proved intelligence and I again wondered why this strong-sounding man had called to here in the first place.

Then again. This had nothing to do with strength. Not one bit.

When you felt lost, it didn't matter how strong you'd be inside or out, it just happened.

* * *

After that three to four hour call with Eames, it took six days before he contacted me again. This time on my cell phone, on a Sunday.

He had probably assumed I didn't work on Sundays, and even though the job I performed was a 24/7 one, I did had optioned to have Sundays off.

"Hi. It's Eames." His voice wavered a bit as if he feared I'd not remember him. I took a bite from my scrawny excuse for a breakfast and ignored the fluttering in my stomach.

"Hey Eames, how are you?"

"I'm great! How are you, Arthur?" I could hear the smile in his voice and couldn't help but return it.

"I'm good. How is your Sunday going?" I asked a relatively safe question, not too sure if I was dealing with a possible suicide-committer or just Eames, funny witty Eames.

"A bit dull, really. Would you like to grab a bite, Love?" This time I was indeed sipping from my coffee and it spurted all over my breakfast.

"Arthur? Are you okay?" Quickly I wiped my mouth, and shirt, and table, and whatever else the coffee had been projectile spat upon.

"Y-yeah, yeah, yes I'm fine." Not so smoothly I tried to avoid his question.

Why in heaven's sake would he ask me out? Was he kidding? Besides, he didn't even know me, aside from the nearly four hour conversation we'd had.

In all honestly, that conversation had been the best conversation of my entire life and sure enough it had felt as if we'd known each other for ages but… I still did not know the man.

Then again, a date's purpose was to get to know one another and-

Hold on. When had I begun seeing this as a date?

"So, when you're done with avoiding my question, could you be a Doll and answer it for me, Arthur?"

"I-uh." I stuttered, poking at my breakfast as I cracked my head on the pro's and cons of meeting up with the unknown man.

He could be a murderer!

"I'm not going to hurt you…" He muttered as if he'd read my mind and I noticed the slight impatience within his tone. Or perhaps hurt?

"Yeah, okay, sure." My answer yet again given on an impulse, but my heart beat fast and my stomach tickled with excitement. It felt so good to feel this alive for once.

Eames was silent for a couple of seconds, as if he had not expected the positive reply.

"Oh wow, okay." I could not help but laugh as I heard him fumble.

"So, where would you like to meet up? I'm hoping you live in the same town as your job is located?"

"I do." Eames hummed deeply at that, the smile obvious in his raspy voice.

Our conversation continued lightly. We had arranged 'a date' for next Sunday in a coffee-shop that happened to be close to his place as well as to mine, meeting in the middle as you will.

Afterwards we talked about the most random of things, the conversation flowing as easily as it had the first time and I again felt surprised and almost in awe of how laid-back of a man he seemed to be.

His sense of humor matched mine, not that it was the same, but we filled up each other's differences when it came to that and this made it possible for us to laugh for minutes in one go.

It seemed that we were tuned in one another, which I had never experienced before in whole my life so far.

I didn't smile. Sure, there were the 'Hello, how are you?' smiles alongside a good morning handshake… But the smiles I had whilst talking to Eames, literally hurt my facial muscles from straining the dimples and laughing wrinkles.

These were the smiles that met my eyes.

I felt literally 'awake'. The dullness in my mind, the heavy fog hazing my consciousness, he lifted it with just talking alone.

The least I could do was meet him. I could only hope we'd click like this in real life as well.

It would be fair to say that I felt alive again.

* * *

When the gunshot rang over the phone, my heart dropped as did the weight that had been lifted off my shoulders for a great deal -thanks to Eames- drop right back on my frame.

All for nothing. I had spent the last four hours talking to a man going by the name of Bill, whose wife had left him overnight, taking their three kids along with her.

Why? What had I done wrong? And then came the accusations towards myself. As I sat behind my desk, phone pressed against my ear half an hour after the shot had sounded, I began finding reasons why the man had decided to take his life anyways.

The line was silent, not a single voice, only the heavy rustling crackle of telecommunication.

A rustling that pressed deafeningly upon my eardrums, blaming me, proving to me. I had killed a man.

"Arthur." I didn't hear her at first before she rested a soft hand on top of my own which cramped furiously onto the phone.

"Arthur. It's okay. It's okay." She spoke softly and I broke out of my numbness, heaving a shuddering gasp. My whole body began to shake as she took the receiver out of my hand and lied it back on the hook.

"Arthur, look at me." I blinked furiously, taking deep breaths while she held on to my shoulders, leaning down to meet my gaze.

Her face came slowly into focus and I stuttered incoherent words.

"I'll call Cobb over, alright?" She asked me, a worried frown on her young face.

Cobb. Employee assistant.

"N-no! No. I'm fine. I just… Can I go home?" I stumbled upright, nearly knocking over my seat and looked at her unconvinced face.

I took another deep breath, trying to snap out of the undeniable guilt that squeezed around my heart and gave her a steady gaze, hands folded into fists at my sides.

"Arthur, are you sure? There's no shame, remember? You did nothing wrong." I knew I had to believe her and that she would not allow me to leave if I did not confirm. So I lied and I nodded.

The last thing I wanted now was to meet up with Cobb, hearing him yap on and on about how I'd done nothing wrong. How people commit suicide all the time and it wasn't my fault if I couldn't keep someone from committing because they'd have done it either way in the end and because I had saved so many already.

It was all bullshit.

Of course I could stop them. I should stop them. I needed to stop every single one of my callers from stepping out of life. Especially a father of three children!

I grinded my teeth, pushing down the anxiety attack and said a curt goodbye to the young girl going by the name of Ariadne, afterwards leaving the place as fast as I could only to wallow into self-pity and grief in my small apartment.

* * *

For the next couple of weeks, the last moments of the phone-call with the father-of-three got replayed in my mind endlessly.

And each time I found something new that I shouldn't have said or should not have done. I had lost my cool. I should never have sounded so desperate. I was supposed to be his rock. I was not supposed to shout for him not to do it. It was a mistake. A huge mistake that had cost him his life and had ruined those of his wife and children.

It physically hurt to remember and recall. It was agony. Selfish agony.

And this selfishness was the reason I had stopped working temporarily ever since that day.

At one evening as I was doing the needed laundry, lifting one of the dirty pants that had been in the corner of the bathroom for weeks now, something fell out of its pocket and clattered to the floor.

I cocked an eyebrow as I eyed the black object and my breath hitched.

My cell-phone.

In the rush of depression and shock I had all forgotten about my mobile phone and the moment I recalled the phone… Eames!

Eames. I had supposed to be meeting him weeks ago! I cursed myself, not believing how I could've forgotten the man's existence like this. That truly wasn't a healthy side. Had I been really wallowed up into self pity so deep that I could not even bother to remember a friendship, an appointment, the lack of a communication device such as a phone?!

I squatted and took the phone into my hand, it was turned off, the battery had probably died a long time ago. So I went into the bedroom and rumbled in the drawer of the bedside cabin, in search of the charger.

Luckily enough I found it and plugged in the phone before having a seat on the bed.

Almost gingerly I turned the device on and waited impatiently for it to start up, ticking in my personal code.

I grabbed a cigarette out of my breast pocket and lit it, all the while looking down on the small screen. A soft groan left my lips when missed calls and text messages of Eames kept coming in. Also a couple of Ariadne and even one from Cobb.

Firstly I listened to Cobb's and Ariadne's messages. They were both supportive. Telling me that I should take my time and Cobb of course made sure to leave a long message about how it truly was not my fault. Ariadne tried to not whine as much, instead telling me she missed my presence at work. I scowled at that. I never got those one-sided friendships.

Then came Eames. If it weren't for a span of fourteen days, I would've been taken aback by the amount of messages and missed phone-calls he had left.

I somehow feared for an angry text, for having stood him up.

Most of them though, made me blush. Saying things such as that he missed me and that he wondered what had happened, that he was worried.

But the later text messages changed. Saying things such as 'it's not your fault'… He knew what had happened?

Quickly I dialed my voicemail number and waited impatiently.

The first one was him telling me he missed me and was looking forward to Sunday. His voice cracked heavily as if he had been calling in the middle of the night, voice heavy with sleep. The time showed indeed that it had been ten past four in the morning.

Then there were a couple of voicemails telling me he was waiting outside, joking that his ass was freezing off, joking if I had chickened out and then joking -with not much humor in his voice- that there indeed was one coffee-shop with the name we had agreed to meet at, right?

My insides tightened with guilt and shame. I was truly a selfish idiot and I didn't deserve his friendliness at all. Why wasn't he cursing me over the phone? He didn't seem angry at all, only hurt and that was much worse.

The last message was very different… I could hear it just by his soft voice saying my name at the beginning.

_'Arthur… I'm sorry but, I called your work today and asked around for you. I managed to get a hold of a mister Cobb… Uhm. Well, yeah, I'm sorry for intruding on your personal life like that but I asked where you were because honestly… Arthur, Darling, I was so worried… I still am…_

_I heard what happened, Arthur. _

_I'm sorry. I believe I understand a sense of how you must be feeling. I've got… some experience with what happened. And honestly, Love, I know you must be sick and tired of hearing this but… it wasn't your fault. _

_Arthur. It. Wasn't. Your. Fault. … Okay?_

_…_

_Anyways. Please give me a call. I really miss you, and your voice and… yeah._

_So. Alright… I hope to hear from you soon. Take care.'_

A short pause of hesitation before the connection got broken. Somehow his message created an unfamiliar burn behind my eyes, and inside my nose.

I felt like crying. I hadn't cried for years. And I wondered shortly how this man was able to bring out emotions out of me that I hadn't been experiencing for ages.

With a deep drag from my cigarette I then brushed a hand through my hair before resting my forehead on the opened palm. My elbows dug almost painfully into my widened knees, but I hardly noticed the burn.

The man had apologized for asking around for me. How in heaven's name does he even believe he should apologize? I was the one who should say sorry to him. I was the one making all the mistakes around here.

I should call him… I knew I should but I was somehow afraid, or more so ashamed.

But when I leaned over, stubbing out the cigarette butt into the small ashtray, my phone ringed, vibrating angrily in my hand.

I startled, suppressing a yelp and as I sat back on the bed, looked down on the screen.

_Eames_

The name flickered along with the joyful ring-tone and the butterflies in my stomach hatched all the same.

I hesitated only for a second, not even sure why, before pressing the green icon on the touch screen and placing the device against my ear.

A pause. He probably was surprised I was picking up in the first place. Or perhaps just waited for me to say something as I should, what with being the receiver of the call.

"Arthur?" Just barely I managed to swallow the unexpected sob that had shot up with hearing the familiar crackle of his voice.

Oh Eames. I had missed him without even realizing. What an idiot I was.

"Hi, Eames." I whispered, my voice thick with held-back tears.

"Darling…" He sighed as if he was relieved to hear my voice and my insides warmed at the pet-name which rolled beautifully around his accent.

"Are you okay?" He almost whispered and I bit my full bottom-lip, overwhelmed with sudden desperation and a release of emotions I had suppressed with being angry at myself.

"No." I cracked.

"Can I come over?" I nodded without even questioning it. Eames was my only friend. A voice that truly had guided me through the dull darkness into the hint of a light of conscious living.

"Okay." My voice was weak and I wondered if this is how it felt to have five years of locked-up emotions finally washing over the shore that was my emotional constipation.

"Give me your address, Darling." I gave it, no hesitation whatsoever, just wanting that beautiful voice in person. Wanting to embrace the man that had 'saved' me.

"Honestly… We're practically neighbors, Arthur. I can't believe we picked a coffee-shop twenty minutes from our places." He joked, but his voice was gentle.

"I'm sorry." I groaned as he mentioned the appointment I had simply forgotten.

"Don't mention it. I'll be there in ten, alright?"

"Okay."

It was odd, how not nervous I was. How I felt more impatient, looking forward to his arrival. My mind craved him, screaming for him to arrive so it could finally get soothed.

* * *

I waited behind my closed door, staring it down, listening for the sound of the creaky elevator down the hall, listening for footsteps.

Never had I felt like this.

It was unbelievable.

As I held back the tears, my chest contracting in odd agony, I only wanted for Eames to arrive. I only wanted for us to embrace and for me to be able to let it all out. To cry against a shoulder. To be soothed, calmed, listened to.

No one ever listened to me. I had no one to talk to. I had pushed away every person in my life, thinking that it was a sense of pride, that they were all too stupid to come close to my much-wanted friendship.

In all reality I was just a prick. A lonely fool who refused to see a bright future. A fool who refused to work on himself let alone notice the flaws within himself.

I was all flaw. I finally realized I was the biggest loser on the planet.

The dull mechanic sounds of the elevator met my ears and I eyed my front door with a wide gaze, blinking to hold back the tears for just a while longer.

Footsteps neared. They sounded quick and certain and I stirred when three firm knocks fell at my door.

Without doubt I pulled the door open and I didn't even bother to take in what he looked like. I just launched forwards, face against his chest and my arms swung around his waist.

And I let it all out.

I cried. Harder than I had ever cried or ever had seen someone cry. Disgusting sobs, wavering breaths and hitching lungs. I managed to not scream as I cried, but only because I was out of breath and was choking on the sobs that shook my body.

My whole core seemed to tremble, shuddering as waves of self-loathing and years of blocked emotions finally washed free.

He stirred only for a second before his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders and upper back. He didn't even try to stop me, just burying a hand into my messy black hair.

He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't do anything stupid. He just hushed soothingly above my ear, breath fanning over my cheekbone and his fingers gently stroked my head and back.

He slowly lead me further inside, body pressing me backwards, making me take the necessary steps and I vaguely heard the door shut behind him. I guessed he had kicked it shut because his hands never left my body.

Eames understood. Finally someone understood what was wrong and what had to be done.

I didn't need anyone to ask me questions, to tell me what was wrong, to tell me to calm down. I just needed the supportive embrace of understanding and zero amount of judgment.

It was what I had needed all those years. All my life. All my life of never being loved or listened to, not even by parents.

It took what seemed like hours before my sobbing calmed down and I couldn't remember where the tissue had come from which I now pressed against my runny nose.

His embrace had gotten even more tight, holding me for dear life and it felt as if I was cradled into a blanket of safety and understanding. For a moment I wished I could stay like that forever.

When my sobbing had made place for sniffling and calmed breathing, I noticed how exhausted I felt. As if I had poured out my heart and soul, my legs felt heavy as did my eyes. My throat was thick, my nose stuffed and body ached to just lie down.

But my mind… It felt light. Completely ridden from the weight of insecurity and anxiety.

Eames must've noticed my wobbly knees as well because his beautiful voice now crackled against the shell off my ear.

"Let's have a seat, shall we?" I nodded, feeling a bit shy now that the rest of emotions had been poured out.

I pulled out of his embrace slowly and noticed how he held my shoulders as if he was worried I'd drop to the floor… Which would make two of us.

He lead me to my sofa and I didn't dare look up to see the holder of that guiding voice before firmly planted on a surface preventing me to connect with the floor.

Gently he pushed me down before lowering himself on the coffee-table in front of me. His hands never left my shoulders and kept wavering uncertainly.

And as I sniffled, wiping my nose with the tissue, I finally looked up to see the man that had become my friend and rock.

There would never be a single word able to describe the man.

Beautiful.

Stunning.

Breathtaking.

Perfection didn't even come close.

I felt, rather than knew, right there and then that the hammer of infatuating love had been struck upon me. I fell in love the moment I saw him.

Or more so, my love for him got confirmed because the moment I had heard his voice… something inside me had sparked, had tugged… As if my instincts already knew he'd be the love of my life.

Eames probably had not missed the astonishment on my face, because a wide grin plastered across his beautiful face. A grin framed with the fullest lips I had ever seen on a man or a woman.

And I loved him for that. I loved him for grinning, for teasing me right away, for allowing me the shoulder to cry on, but as well to take away my mind from any awkwardness or grief.

It was the same healthy balance he'd had on the phone. He always knew when to joke and when to be serious.

It was as if we were completely tuned in on one another.

"Nice to meet you, Arthur." His blue-gray eyes softened as did his grin form into a smile.

My face cracked almost painfully in the widest smile I had ever managed to plaster on my young face. Dimples and wrinkles all revealed for the handsome man and I didn't miss how his eyes widened at the sight.

"I love your voice." I blurted and we both laughed at the idiotic turn of words. Complimenting on a voice I had heard many times and ignoring the very obvious attraction that had sparked in between us.

* * *

Eames had spent the whole night with me. We had talked and talked and talked until the sun started to rise again.

And it seemed that in that night, the man had gripped all the dark negativity inside of me, pulling it outside and had slam-dunked it into the metaphorical trashcan of a past put behind me from now on.

The conversation about the father-of-three had been the last nudge towards a bright future.

_"They all ring that first time because they need that hand… That hand to pull them out of the gripping idea of ending their lives. Every single call is a possible suicide, Arthur… You've saved more lives than you can count."_ He had said, taking a soft drag from his cigarette before continuing.

_"Not only the lives of the caller but as well of their loved ones. But reality has it, you will never be able to save them all._

_Tell me, Arthur. Tell me what he told you in his last moments."_ It had been painful to recall the conversation, as it brought up that sting of failure. But I had answered nonetheless, Eames voice too soothing to see it as an infiltration.

_"He read me his goodbye letter and he cried. It's horrible to hear a full-grown man cry. Throughout the letter his voice calmed… And in the end he just thanked me. He thanked me for having listened to him."_

Eames had nodded and had replied almost in a whisper.

_"He already wrote his letter, Arthur. He had already made up his mind…_

_He just wanted to say goodbye, to someone. He just needed a shoulder to cry on. _

_And you gave him this, Arthur. You gave him what he needed. You granted him the peace of mind and heart before he took his own life. _

_He had already made that decision. And surely it was not the 'right' decision as we seem fit but it was the decision he had made for himself and his family. _

_A four hour call would never allow a suicide on impulse._

_You could not have changed his mind with the best of training, with the most perfect of words._

_It was his time to go, Arthur, and he knew so more than you."_

That had opened my eyes and had shed away the last particles of guilt I had left gnawing at my conscience.

I had never seen it because of a self-pity that had been weighing me down for years and to admit that the dullness of life was actually my own fault… well, that on its own resolved everything.

Sometimes a leap of fate was just a phone-call away and it seemed that the roles had gotten turned around when Eames had called me the first time, that night.

A phone-call I later on discovered had not at all been about a suicide-to-happen, but more so for a listening soul to pour out to. As flawless as Eames was, as lonely he had been and we matched each other perfectly.

Rebirth.

That's what Eames had been for in my life. As if fate itself had kicked the man into my life, to open my eyes to an issue I had blamed others on, but all in all had been my own doing.

I was reborn. The Arthur in the cocoon of mistakes and ignorance burst out and revealed only the person I had always been but had been afraid to let be seen.

END

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Thanks for reading and please review!


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